


A Softer Heart

by vesta02



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, BDSM, Concern, Dom/sub, F/M, Feelings, Fever, Flash Fiction, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Mild Humor, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Relationship, Post-Battle Kiss, Pre-Love - Freeform, Sick Flirting, Sickfic, Teasing, Trespasser DLC, Watch Word, breath play, dragon fighting, innuendos, kiss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesta02/pseuds/vesta02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompts based around Rosalind Trevelyan, squishy Circle Mage, and her LI, Iron Bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prompt: Reacting to the other one crying about something

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted from non-sexual acts of intimacy: ♥:Reacting to the other one crying about something

He’s seen her cry before – it’s her gut reaction when something goes wrong or when emotion overpowers her. Some people rage and scream or sulk and glower but Rosalind has never been one of those. Instead, her eyes well up and she struggles to keep her composure when pressure threatens to crack her soft exterior. She proclaims, loudly and often, that she’s the farthest thing from brave and knows all too well how deeply and how intensely she feels everything.

Still, frustration bubbles up among the tears that stream down her cheeks. She throws her shoe, a snarl escaping her lips, anger coloring the curse words that fall steadily and with surprising ease. “Blighted desert, bloody creatures, fucking  _heat_ ,” She snaps to herself, grateful for a moment of privacy among the reeds of a nearby oasis. Camp isn’t far away but she dares not bathe alone, not when creatures and beasts continue to lurk in her periphery.

Truthfully, she’s exhausted from weeks of travel and the last few days feel like hell. Her body aches, from the prickle of sunburn at the back of her neck to the bone-deep tired that settles in her core. Everything wants to fight her and she doesn’t have the energy, not right now.

She tugs at her other boot and throws it…

..right into Iron Bull’s shoulder.

She stops, color flushing her cheeks. “Bull! I’m…” Her lower lip trembles, raising a hand to dash away new tears (this time accompanying a deep embarrassment that anyone has to see her so completely unhinged), “s-sorry about that.”

He doesn’t give her a moment to shut herself down. “Hey boss,” He’s doing his Ben-Hassrath thing; perhaps he doesn’t think he’s noticeable, but Rosalind can pick out a few things from the way his gaze sweeps over her, a strange discerning look crossing his face before it’s gone, replaced with casual concern. “Need to get out of the heat?”

“Yes,” She sniffs, bowing her head, swallowing hard. But one of his large hands rests just beneath her chin, tilting her head back up so her gaze meets his. There’s something knowing in his look, a slight crinkle at the corner of his eye, the way his lips lift just slightly. Unlike anyone else, though, Bull doesn’t bullshit her (no pun intended), doesn’t coddle her unless it’s what she needs in the moment. It’s his job to notice the little details, to be what she needs since their relationship changed, and that’s what he’s been.

It still surprises her that he has such tenderness when dealing with her in moments of weakness, when uncertainty threatens to swallow her whole. Even if it’s just a temper tantrum in the middle of a desert.

“Then I’m your guy, boss,” He tells her without hesitation, “whatever you need. Right now you just need someone to watch your back, make sure one of them phoenix or hyena assholes don’t kill you while you cool off in the water.” It’s a simple solution and she sighs, leaning forward. It’s still too warm, but her forehead presses against his chest. She feels the low rumble of a chuckle reverberating in his chest, one hand smoothing back strands of sweaty hair that’s escaped her bun.

“Sorry I’m such a baby,” She murmurs, pulling away, finally bringing herself to meet his gaze without any help from him.

Bull, however, shakes his head. “Nah, boss, you’re not a baby. You just need to take a break before you break.” He reaches out, his touch lingering a moment on her shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll be here.”

“What, you won’t be watching?” A ghost of a smile appears across her lips a moment, catching the almost surprised look on Bull’s face. Comforting to know that she can still surprise him, even with all his damn spy training.

“Never said I wouldn’t be.”


	2. Flash Fiction: Gleaming Scales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from malsweeklychallenge on Tumblr: 'Gleaming scales'

The dragon roars, scales gleaming in the hot desert sun, and Rosalind can only tremble. It’s all been planned but, standing there now, she feels like she’s bitten off far more than she can chew. She grips her staff in hand, grateful that she switched out an ice staff to go against the beast, but she knows one wrong move, one misstep or hit could and would take her down.

Bull, however, is positively gleeful.

“Hey Boss,” He calls out as they watch the dragon make lazy circles overhead towards them. Only when Rosalind turns does he give her an ear-splitting grin, shifting his grip on the ax in hand, “have I mentioned that you’re the best?”

“Maybe a time or two,” She replies, her tone shaky, worrying her bottom lip.

“We’ve got this,” He tells her after a moment and she gives him what she can only hope is a reassuring sort of smile. Maybe he’s got it, with the bulk and muscle and complete aversion to being afraid of anything larger than himself, but Rosalind hesitates. It’s only when the dragon lands, emitting a roar, that adrenaline comes through her full-force. She presses her lips together in a tight line, springing to action with her team as a spell flies from her stave.

At the very least, she thinks, she’ll need to get very drunk later to deal with the fact that she stared down a dragon today.

The mess and gore is almost worth it though as the beast falls after an intense battle. Rosalind is covered in blood, looking over for scratches and wounds that she may have gotten from the fight. But it’s his hands on her, tilting her chin up that catches her off-guard. Bull’s grinning, dipping low to kiss her fiercely, his tongue slipping into her mouth easily. She laughs into the kiss, ignoring the disgusted noise Cassandra emits across the field.

Worth it.


	3. Caring for each other while ill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted but taken from non-sexual acts of intimacy: ♞: Caring for each other while ill

It’s funny how something as little as a cold can knock her off her feet. Overworked, exhausted and Rosalind is fairly certain she caught something while spending weeks out in the Emprise de Lion. The cold stays with her as she shivers under the blankets, burrowing further into her pillow in an attempt to get warmer.

The fact that his hands feel cool against her skin should be an indication of just how feverish she’s gotten. He’s always so warm but right now it’s a relief, arching into his touch with a soft sigh.

“You’re feeling hotter than usual, _kadan_ ,” He murmurs and she gives a wheezing cough in response.

“You’re just trying to get into my pants with lines like that,” She blinks up at him, attempting to shake the haze from her vision but everything feels heavy and aches and she’s happier to simply turn her head back against her pillow with a muffled cough.

“Sexy,” Bull replies dryly, getting a muffled snort in response. “Come on, kadan, sit up, you haven’t eaten today.” His hands ease behind her, one supporting her back, the other curling gently around her hand as she pushes herself up (mostly with his help).

“How’d you know?” She asks, head fuzzy as she sneezes. “Wait, no, don’t tell me,” Her lips quirk into the tiniest of smiles, “Ben-Hassrath thing, right?”

Bull gives a sharp laugh as he fluffs a pillow behind her back before shifting to the side and reaching for the bowl he’s placed on her nightstand table. “Nah, I just asked the cook.”

“How very normal of you,” Rosalind murmurs, blinking curiously as he lifts a spoon of what appears to be broth towards her lips. “You don’t have to do this,” She murmurs, almost embarrassed even in her feverish state. She should be fine on her own and, truthfully, she’s never felt comfortable being the focus of anyone’s attentions, especially when she knows there’s plenty of work to be done around the keep.

“I know,” He holds the spoon steady though, unwavering, “anyways, I don’t trust you holding this on your own. You’ll spill the whole damn thing and then where’ll you be?” He pauses, adding, “Besides, I added a little something extra, to help get you back on your feet.”

Rosalind pauses only a moment before accepting the first bite. Beef broth slides down her throat but the kick, she realizes, burns and she coughs, her cheeks coloring. “Bull,” She begins, torn between coughing again and laughing deliriously, “did you spike my broth?”

“Course I did,” Bull replies without missing a beat. Rosalind can’t hold it in this time, giving a barking, ragged laugh punctured by a few hacking coughs. He puts the soup down to rub a hand along her back.

“I love you, you big oaf,” Rosalind murmurs, leaning her cheek into his touch when he checks her fever again later. If she’s not mistaken, she’s almost certain the formitible Iron Bull cracks a smile.

“Let’s get you to bed, _kadan_ ,” He tells her, “you sound delirious, or are you just getting soft on me?” Maybe it’s both but Rosalind simply follows his instructions, giving a happy sort of sigh when he slides in next to her, letting her rest her head along his stomach, sprawled across him and falling asleep within a matter of moments.

 


	4. Watch Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted: Rosalind uses her watch word.

“I think,” Iron Bull murmurs above her once he’s checked the ties at her wrists, “we’ll try something new tonight.” This isn’t out of the ordinary as Rosalind shifts as best she can in her very vulnerable position. It’s a brand new world, sleeping with The Iron Bull; just when Rosalind thinks that she might have an idea of what or where everything is going, he shows her something new, tests another boundary that leaves her gasping for breath and writhing beneath his ministrations.

“Alright,” Rosalind agrees, though that was implicit. In this room, in this space, she is his, letting go of the weight of command if only for the night. It’s a blessing to let someone else call the shots, at least here, to both gain and lose control of herself in a way that feels like a paradox.

Things start as they usually do: Bull takes his time, tracing his fingers along her body as she tries to remain still. Even when his hands brush along her fleshy stomach or create patterns along dimpled thighs, areas she prefers not to have anyone see, she works to turn towards his touch rather than away. He’s teasing, reassuring, pulling soft gasps and moans when he traces along particularly sensitive spots. 

Rosalind thinks it should be embarrassing how quickly and easily he turns her on, but she can’t find it in her to care when it feels so damn good.

It’s only when his hands close around her throat, gently constructing her airway that she feels the first hints of panic. It’s not enough to do damage or to knock her out, but a wave of dread and fright grips her as she goes rigid beneath him and not in a good way. 

He hand lifts and she says the word, the one she hasn’t had to use yet, with such desperation – “Katoh! Please, Bull, I can’t!” 

His hands are immediately off her as she shakes and trembles. There’s shushing, a gentler noise rather than telling her to be quiet, and he makes quick work to free her hands. “It’s alright, Boss,” His hands cup her face as tears trail down her cheeks, “I’ve got you, it’s alright.” 

“But I used the word,” Rosalind feels stupid, her anxiety melting into anger at herself. All she had to do was breathe through it and maybe it would have been fine. “I used the word and now-” She cuts off with a soft, hiccupping sob.

“Hey,” Bull’s voice pulls her away from the edge of her emotional overload, tilting her face towards his, brushing tears from her cheeks. “We have a watch word for a reason. I need you to use it when you’re distressed, if we’re going too far, if something’s wrong.”

She lets out a shaky breath, deflating as one of his hands shifts down her neck, gently kneading a knot she’s been meaning to ask for some help with. “I thought…” Rosalind pauses, struggling to find her words; Bull’s patient, waiting rather than jumping in with his own response. “I thought if I used the word that we were done. That this was done.”

Bull does something she doesn’t expect: he laughs. It’s rough, short, barking, but a laugh all the same. “You’re the boss, Boss,” He reminds her when she meets his gaze, “we do this as long as you want to. I’m not leaving because you used the watch word like you were supposed to.” It’s genuine concern that Rosalind sees rather than anger or disgust that she wasn’t strong enough to battle through her feelings.

It makes her want to cry harder.

“Let’s get you comfortable, tuck in for the night,” Bull leans in, brushing his lips against her forehead before shifting away from her. He takes the unused rope (“For another time, Boss,” he says when she watches him) and sets it on the desk, reaching for her robe. It’s, by far, the best thing she owns, fleece lined and so incredibly soft to the touch. Ye, she has a few silky, more scandalous robes that barely constitute as such a garment, but this? This wraps around her perfectly and keeps her so warm in the drafty tower she calls home.

“Arms,” Bull instructs as Rosalind lifts her limps, sliding into the robe, tying the knot in the belt herself. She expects him to tuck her in, stay for a bit and leave, but Bull surprises her. Covers pulled down, he slides in with her, tucking her into his side as he leans against the pillows with a sigh. “Damn fine bed you got, Boss,” He murmurs, drawing a very small laugh from Rosalind. He traces his fingers along her shoulder and down her arm and back, this time moving for the sake of soothing her rather than riling her up.

“You’re staying?” She whispers against his skin, shifting to look up at him in the dim firelight. He’s never stayed with her beyond waiting for her to drift off; tonight, however, he settles in so easily.

“That alright?” His tone is even, leveled and he’s watching her carefully. If she didn’t want him, he’d be gone already. But her arm drapes across his stomach, her cheek pressing against his chest as she nuzzles his violet-colored skin.

They sit in silence for a while, his fingers tracing up her neck, searching for knots and little pressure points that relax and soothe. Her eyes feel heavy, her breathing evens out, but his voice rumbling in his chest brings her back to the waking world.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Rosalind considers. “It was when we were on the run,” She whispers against his skin, sighing when his hand shifts, fingers scratching and pressing into stress points along her scalp. “We were ambushed. A Templar got the better of me and would have killed me. Luckily, he did not.” It’s all she can manage on the subject; even some time later, the events that led her to this place, to this bed, is hard for her to speak about freely.

Thankfully, Bull doesn’t push her. Instead, he murmurs, almost breezily, “Alright, we’ll keep breath-play off the table.”

“For now, anyways,” Rosalind adds with a weak laugh.

His hand stills along her scalp, twisting gently in her curls. “Whatever happened before, whatever you fear, I want you to be safe here, Boss. You know that you’re safe with me.”

She hides her smile against his chest, lips pressing gently to an old scar. “I know, Bull. Thank you.”


	5. Flash Fiction: That isn't...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: That isn't...  
> Participating in malsweeklychallenge on tumblr!

That isn’t a word she knows. Rosalind leans against the bar, frowning, her mouth forming the word that just fell from iron Bull’s own lips. Qunlat, she knows that much, but the word is unfamiliar. She’s been slowly picking up little things here and there, phrases to litter her speech with phrases that Bull might enjoy or find amusing. It’s a harder language to learn, nothing like Orleasan or Teven (which Roz is more fluent in these days, considering the partners she has to practise with).

 _Kadan_.

What does it mean?

Maybe she misheard him, she thinks, giggling into her drink. They’re both running on fumes after what she can only call a lapse in judgement. Leaping headfirst into a dragon fight wasn’t exactly how she planned to spend her last day in the Hinterlands, but Bull’s on fire from it. She watches as he speaks, speech slurred, laughing and sighing over the majestic beast and their slaying of it.

She only laughs, her drink hitting her faster and harder than his does, leaning against his arm. She’ll have to look it up later, find some text or maybe pester Dorian enough to see what he knows. Her own curiosity can wait, lips pressing a little kiss to what will be a new scar from their battle along his arm.


	6. Flash Fiction: Calla lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @malsweeklychallenge prompt: Calla lilies. Featuring a pseudo-modern AU and these two idiots. I might expand this someday.

He's waiting for her in the parking lot when her shift ends in the early morning hours. Rosalind has to do a double take when she spots him, though in all honesty he's hard to miss. The hulking Qunari leans against her car, nonchalant but his gaze meets hers with purpose. In his hands are flowers and her heart quite nearly skips a beat. She can't stop the smile even if she tried, raising a brow when she gets closer.

"Are those for me?" 

"Course they are," The Iron Bull holds them out and, in the early morning light, Rosalind notices exactly what kind of flowers they are. 

"Calla lilies," Taking them in hand, she leans into the bouquet, inhaling their sweet scent with ease. "How did you remember?" It had been a passing comment, one most people would have ignored as they explored the park up the street, specifically the greenhouse. Most men, when there had been men, had brought her generic roses, laughing at the similarity to her name rather than look into what she truly enjoyed.

"Ben-Hassrath, remember?" His smirk is easy and she's drawn in.

"Doesn't that negate the whole being a spy by telling me you're a spy?" She teases, reaching to touch his cheek, standing on tiptoe to get even a little close. Thankfully he meets her halfway, lips brushing gently against hers in greeting.

"Not like it'd stay hidden from an organization called 'the Inquisition' anyways," He reminds her and she concedes. "Anyways, wanna get breakfast? There's a place up the street."

"Yeah, breakfast sounds delicious."


	7. Prompt: A Doomed Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted with 'A Doomed Kiss'. Trespasser feels ahead~

He’s been watching her. For months fear has burrowed its way into his heart as he watches her fall apart before him. The pain wakes her from sleep and, no matter what he does, there’s a weariness in her gaze, a pain that she cannot _katoh_ away. It's getting worse, the magic crackling with an energy she can't brush aside. There's no hiding it from anyone, especially him. Her shoulders sag, her eyes droop and her grip gets weaker and weaker along her left side. She's adamant that she can do this though. Even with sweat along her brow, bags under her eyes, she insists that she must see this through to the very end.

An end, she's admitted, she does not want him to see. Oh, she doesn't say it in so many words. Instead, she avoids his gaze, her fingers trembling as she adjusts her armor once more. They're all gearing up to go, but she tells him, flat out, that she's not bringing him with her. 

“Please, I need you here,” Her reasoning remains weak as he steps forward, his hands taking over when her left sizzles and cracks with magic she can no longer control. He knows how she likes it, carefully measuring and tugging until the armor she crafted before the council sits perfectly in place. “I don’t want you with me.” She's trying to be cold, trying to remain unaffected and disinterested, but Iron Bull catches the waver in her voice.

The words remain unspoken: _I don’t want you watching me die_.

“Bullshit,” He cups her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze, “I’m coming with you, kadan.” He’s in too deep, watching as Rosalind screws her face up in an attempt not to cry. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her, regardless of how hard she tries to push him away. Oh, sure, he'll give her space, but she's the other half of his heart, his _kadan_ , and there's scenario where he watches her walk into danger, towards her almost certain death. 

 _Stop_. He can't think like that, not when her attempt to hide her feelings begins to falter before his eyes. She takes in a gasping breath, shaking as she lets go. It's painful, but it's what he's always been here for. His thumb strokes her cheek, absently brushing away tears as they fall down one by one.

“I’m scared,” Rosalind sobs, her shoulders shaking, lower lip trembling. She doesn’t have to say why, doesn’t need to say anything more as Bull pulls her closer to him. She presses her face against his chest, weeping, letting go for a moment in the safety of his embrace. Out of this room she has to be a leader, she has to remain strong as magic eats away at her.

Only when her shaking slows does he tilt her chin upward, bending to capture her lips with his. Fear, love, anguish - all emotions that he’s been told to push aside, emotions he’s never had to feel before the Inquisition, before he became what he feared most.

But her arms wrap around him, tightly, fiercely, and he understands now the danger of it all. There’s nothing Iron Bull wouldn’t do for her. He’s walked through the Fade, taken down dragons, fought off Venatori and Red Templars for this woman. And he’ll be damned if he’s not by her side tonight.


	8. Flash Fiction: On your knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from @malsweeklychallenge with the prompt 'On your knees'. Almost borderlines NSFW but doesn't exactly???? One day I'll get to writing smut with these two, SOMEDAY. Hang in there, it'll happen.

"On your knees."

The command is no longer so intimidating or frightening - Rosalind quirks her brow, a slow smirk coming into play, but she obeys the order given to her. She's done it many times before, dropping her gaze once her knees hit the floor, the picture of submission. She lets go of the mantle of command, the weight of the world sliding off her shoulders as she breathes in and out slowly. 

He doesn't speak, watching from the couch; she doesn't have to have to look at him to know that he's watching her. Gauging her needs, silently appraising where she's at tonight. Each time is different, each moment tailored and set to help her get what she needed. Most of the time she doesn't know what she needs, used to casting it aside for others, letting herself come last if at all in any matters.

Regardless of how it looks, what others might see, Iron Bull gives her exactly what she needs.

The floor creaks as he stands and her breathing picks up just slightly, listening as he moves, watching his shadow dance along the floor. One of his hands rests at the nape of her neck, gathering her red hair in his hands. The strands tangle between his fingertips, tugging firmly, tilting her head back. Her neck is exposed, vulnerable, but she can't keep the little smile from playing at her lips, her eyes meeting his.

"Who do you belong to here?" 

"You," she whispers, giving no thought to hide the want and yearning from her tone, "Always you."

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr, I like chatting and prompts: alittlestarling.tumblr.com


End file.
